


Just Another Four

by Lizardbeth



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: Cylons, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-17
Updated: 2010-01-17
Packaged: 2017-10-06 09:04:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/51969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lizardbeth/pseuds/Lizardbeth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On Caprica, when the resistance leader gets hurt, Simon has a choice.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just Another Four

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers for _The Plan_.

"What the hell happened?" Four demands as Hilliard helps Anders into the room to sit on the bed. He's got a hand clamped over a bloody wad of cloth on his left arm.

"Glass," Anders answers shortly. "Trying to get through a window. It won't stop bleeding."

"You can go," Four dismisses Hilliard and disinfects his hands before taking a look. It's a deep cut nearly in his elbow, and the instant he pulls the sodden cloth away, the cut wells with blood. For a moment, Four considers letting Anders bleed out; it wouldn't take much: a shot of anticoagulant to ensure he keeps bleeding and a little deeper incision to nick the artery...

But, no. One has already told him that Anders is not to die, and Four agrees that killing him seems like a waste of prime reproductive material. So he tells Sam to lie down and fixes him up. He doesn't use anaesthetic as he stitches, and Sam just clenches his jaw and accepts the lack. When it's done, bandage around his arm, Sam even thanks him. He sits up, but blood loss hits him, and he grabs Four's shoulder, nearly slipping off the bed and falling to the floor. "Frak."

"Just rest," Four tells him.

"But I have to--" Sam starts to object, but Four pushes him backward, hand to his chest.

"The team can get along without you for an hour. Maybe even two," Four teases him, but he approves of the devotion to duty. Sam's nearly Cylon in his attention to the welfare of the group, and it's one of the things that makes it tolerable to stay in this camp of his enemies.

Sam chuckles tiredly and leans back. "Guess so. Better than passing out on the court."

Four frowns at him. "No pyramid for a week, or you'll tear the stitches." Sam's expression turns obstinate and his eyes gleam with plans of how to get around this restriction, and Four leans into the hand he still has on Sam's chest. "No pyramid, no guns, and consider yourself lucky I don't shackle you to this bed to make sure you heal up properly."

Sam jokes, "You mean you _won't_ shackle me to the bed? Damn, Simon, just when I was gonna ask..." Their eyes meet, and Four feels a little heated thrill go through him. _This is arousal,_ he realizes, as the warmth settles between his legs, and he suddenly has to lick his lips.

Of course, Sam notices. Since Four came to the C-Bucs, he's watched Sam hook up with anyone he finds attractive. Male or female, it doesn't seem to matter. Four had thought the casual frakking was disgusting and animal-like, until right now, when he suddenly wants to feel what's like. He has the memories from the experiments when the Cylons tried all the combinations of the seven to attempt to procreate, but none of those encounters were better than pleasant. They're not _his_ memories -- he finds he wants some of his own. But -- Sam is his enemy; Four can't frak him, and he won't. He turns away from the knowing eyes, hands shaking, and says something about cleaning up, but Sam's hand closes around his arm and turns him back around.

"Hey, I've got at least an hour I'm stuck in here," he points out, smiling as he tugs Four closer, pulling him down.

"You should be resting," Four reminds him, but he doesn't try to free himself, and Sam's smile widens.

"I'm on a bed, what more do you want?" he murmurs, and his hand curls around the back of Four's neck and brings their mouths together.

It's a shock, and what he thought was arousal before proves to be a pale shadow of the truth, as a quivering heat shoots through him, from lips to spine, and he opens his mouth because he has to have more. He pushes down hard, feeling as if Sam is sucking the very breath from him until he finally has to tear himself away, just to pant. "God, I didn't know--" he mutters, staring and shaking his head in confusion and need. When his tongue touches his lips they're tender, abraded by Sam's unshaven upper lip and where he wasn't careful with his teeth, but he can't stop touching them.

Sam waits a moment and then lifts a curious eyebrow. "If you wanna stop, you know I'm cool with that, right?" he offers. "I get that this isn't your usual --"

Four shuts him up with another hard kiss, and this time his hands slide under Sam's shirt and push it upward.

Chuckling, Sam murmurs, as he throws his shirt to the floor, "No stopping, I take it?"

"Frak no." As often as Four has seen him naked since the war started and before that in the locker room, this time is different, since there's nothing clinical in his feelings, as he touches all that smooth skin and slides over the muscles. He lets his short nails trail across Sam's ribs, and pinches his nipples hard enough he flinches and opens his mouth as if to object, but Four seals their mouths again and licks the objection out of it. The little pain made his heart rate jump, and Four can feel it thumping against his own skin. Sam doesn't object when Four opens his pants or slips a hand inside.

He lets out a breathy moan when Four circles his cock in his fist. It's control when his touch makes it stiffen in his grip, each pull turning it harder until Four can hardly believe it's the same organ. "Simon..." It feels like a revelation, the way the sound of that roughened voice and the feel of the soft skin burns through his own body.

But it's not enough. Four lets go, earning a complaint, "What are you --?" But Sam's voice catches in his throat, as he watches Four strip off his clothes. His heavy-lidded gaze slides down Four's chest and abdomen to where his erection is announcing his need. "C'mere," he beckons Four back to him, and pulls him across his body, until they match skin to skin. "Ah yes, that's good," he breathes out as Four slides over him, hard cocks between their bodies, brushing together with every move.

Four contemplates grabbing some mineral oil, but doesn't want to move away. The sweat that gathers between them seems to be enough anyway, as he kneels between Sam's legs and rubs against him, chest to chest, cocks between their bellies. "Simon, gods, don't stop," Sam requests through his teeth. He's got one hand on Four's arm, while his injured hand clutches at the sheet beneath him.

He can't answer, lost in the grip of the heat in his veins and need burning in his groin. His fingers dig into the thin mattress, bracing himself, as his hips thrust with animal instinct, until he groans deep in his chest and release hits with urgent pulses. His eyes shut, as the pleasure crashes through him. For an instant, it seems as if the universe expands and he knows _everything_. He glimpses a bright place of white and gold, before reality folds around him again and the knowledge slips away. But the feel of it lingers, like the briefest touch of God, and he knows he's not only a Four anymore.

Simon looks down at Sam's tight, needy face, the way he's biting his lip, and feels his hips buck against Simon's weight, seeking relief. Simon smirks and moves again, with deliberate brushing strokes. It's easier to slide now, with Simon's fluid between them, but the friction is lessened, which frustrates Sam. "Simon, please, oh gods, I need--" Simon could listen to that hoarse cry begging him for release forever, but he knows he can't string the game out too long. He wraps his hand around the erection and it takes only two pulls before he's coming all over Simon's hand, moaning and gasping, shaking with the violence of it. "Oh gods!"

Simon listens to his heartbeat slow as Sam catches his breath, and draws lazy circles on Sam's arm. "That was -- that was -- really good," Sam murmurs eventually, his voice fading. He sounds exhausted as if the frakking drained his last strength. "Thanks."

"Anytime." Simon pushes himself up to his feet. Sam complains with a wordless groan, trying to catch Simon's arm again, but Simon avoids the hand. "And maybe now you'll stay in bed for another hour." Then he chuckles. "We can do the shackles another time."

Sam's eyes are closing but he manages a smirk. "Promises, promises..."

"Rest, Sam." Simon cleans himself up with a towelette and grabs a blanket. When he turns back, he finds Sam sound asleep, still faintly smiling. Simon lays the blanket over him and stands beside the bed.

He wants to say the frak was just a frak and meant nothing. That Simon will be able to kill him or take him to a farm when ordered, but suddenly, the idea seems wrong. _You are my enemy,_ he reminds himself, not letting his eyes linger too long on the swollen lips. _We are here to destroy you all. _

But for the first time, doubts have grown like weeds, tearing at the foundations of his certainty. He watches Sam sleep, wondering what's going to become of them all.


End file.
